Surrender to Your Darkest Dreams
by LilCassandra
Summary: The Phantom allowed Christine to choose Raoul, but fairy tale endings are never really true and some choices are instantly regretted. To win back her Angel of Music, Christine will journey down a path into her darkest desires and give up her very soul for the man that makes her complete. Rating is for later chapters: smut, BDSM, kink, all the fun stuff.
1. Chapter 1

They had all thought the Phantom dead after what the newspapers now called the great disaster of the Opera Populaire. Raoul and Christine had barely made it past the bloodthirsty crowd that demanded vengeance from any they deemed at fault which, to many, included Christine. At the end of the long journey, cold, exhausted, Christine could do little more than fall into the Vicomte's arms. She awoke in his home, chastely tucked into bed as if she were a small child. All she could do was rely on rumors, gossip that was difficult to believe for, after all, the last Christine had seen of the Phantom had him very much alive.

_It would have been simpler if he died_, she thought angrily to herself.

It broke her heart to return that ring. The Phantom's fingers touching hers felt as if they would burn her skin, his eyes so full of love and betrayal that Christine had to turn from the sight. That last image was almost enough to break her resolve. Had she a few seconds more, perhaps she would have made a different choice. Perhaps she would have run back into the Phantom's arms and to hell with the Vicomte.

It was all useless speculation anyhow. Raoul's presence broke the spell of the Phantom's voice and took her away from it all. Awakening now in this bed, the luxury surrounded her, it felt like a gilded cage, but what was she to do? She could not hate the boy for saving her life, could she?

Mere seconds after she awoke, Christine heard a commotion outside her door.

"Let me see her!"

"No, I brought her here half dead, I can't allow you to-"

"Allow what? You aren't anything. I, however, am her best friend, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to make sure she's alright!"

Meg threw open the door and shoved the Vicomte out of her path. It was enough to give Christine a small smile. Apparently certain tempers never changed.

"Oh, thank God! We didn't know what happened to you! No one would tell Mama or I anything!" exclaimed Meg, throwing a glance at Raoul that would make most men run in terror. Sensibly, he chose to leave and shut the door behind him without answering the insinuation.

Christine sat up, too weak to do much more, wanting to reassure her friend that it was all right. Before the words left her, Meg jumped upon the bed in a whirlwind and held her friend close.

"Christine, I'm so sorry. We're all so sorry. Mama and I should've been there, should've done more!" she whispered on the verge of tears.

"No, no, it's fine, I'm safe now, see?" Christine whispered softly, comforting the girl as she always had.

"Still, we sent that fool into the labyrinth to find you, and then didn't hear another word!"

Christine didn't bother asking who this fool was. Interrupting Meg during one of her tirades was never an intelligent decision. She allowed the girl to ramble on for a few moments before finally quieting her and begged her to say just what had happened. At this, Meg finally caught her breath, and haltingly began her version of the events.

"We…we don't really know! The Phantom took you, and Mama and I were out of our wits with worry. We sent Raoul into the labyrinth to rescue you, but Mama wouldn't let me follow. Too dangerous, she said. Ha! As if I would ever abandon my dearest friend! I followed the mob that…"

"Mob?" interrupted Christine. "Were you mad? You could have been injured!"

"I didn't have another choice. You were both down there, and I couldn't trust Raoul to bring you both back, could I? The Phantom, I knew they would've killed him if they'd found him, so I followed the rest of the group down the tunnels. They had to reach the Maestro eventually, right? Only…"

From a pocket within her dress, Meg pulled out an object that made Christine's heart stop. The mask. _His_ mask. She would recognize it anywhere. Her Angel would never be without it, and to see it here now did not bode well. Christine snatched it from Meg's hands and held it close to her heart, choking back a sob.

"No, no, it's ok! It's not what you think!" cried Meg, shaking her from her dark thoughts. "That's all we found! No body, no anything, just this mask. And I didn't let anyone see it, mind you. Well, no one but Mama, but she doesn't really count. He had to have gotten out, Christine. No one knows those tunnels better than him."

Another commotion began outside and Christine panicked. Exchanging a look, Meg quickly snatched the mask back and hid it within the folds of her dress before the door slammed open again, a very worried Vicomte glaring from the outside.

All three stared awkwardly at one another before Raoul broke the silence with his annoyance. "I let you in here and now find Christine in tears. She is not well, Meg, can you not leave her in peace for a single moment?"

"Darling, no, it's fine," whispered Christine with an encouraging smile. "I wanted to know what happened, is all."

"Oh dearest," he rushed to her side, all but shoving Meg out of the way. She stood to the side of the bed, rolling her eyes at the dramatic display. "You're safe. No one will find you," he reassured her. "Your fears are far behind you, remember? I promise you that monster is done with you. He's dead, Christine. You're finally free now."

"Now wait just one minute there," quipped Meg from his side. "Maybe you lost your head on the way out, but those of us that actually stayed behind didn't find a body, so you know that's not true."

"Be sensible, Meg!" exclaimed the irritated Vicomte. "I had men blocking every door. We would have found him by now. I'm sure he simply drowned in the lake attempting ot make his escape. He is dead and that is the end of it."

Meg opened her mouth to argue then thought better of it. Raoul turned back to Christine, kissing her hands with reverence, and Meg exchanged a look with her friend over his head. They both knew it was utterly absurd. No one knew every door, every exit, but the Phantom himself. Of course, it was possible he perished. Anything was _possible_. But Christine knew in her heart that her Angel would never truly abandon her. She conjured a fake smile, reassured the boy in front of her that all was perfectly alright, then feigned hunger. He smiled and bounded out the door like a puppy to find her something to eat, leaving the two women alone.

"You can't say he isn't handsome, but you sure know how to pick them!" Meg joked.

"I hate to ask this of you, Meg, but-"

"With all the times you've covered for me, I owe you ten times over. Want me to go push him down a flight of stairs for you?"

Even in her confusion and grief, the image made Christine giggle, "No, as amusing it might be for all of us. Won't you tell me if you hear about…about _him_? Your mother knows far more than she's willing to admit, and if he has survived where else would he go?"

"Oh that's just what we need, the Phantom on our doorstep! Hello, I'm sorry I've murdered some people, could I have a cup of tea?"

"I'm sure there's some sort of explanation," Christine rationalized as always. "I must know that he's safe!"

A light flashed in Meg's eyes, one full of admiration and confusion all at once, "You still care about him, don't you? Even after everything? Even after Mr. Rich Boy here says he's marrying you…"

"You heard his music as well as I. Doesn't it also speaks to you?"

"Well, yes…" she admitted regretfully. "You and I are both the same in that silly slip of taste. You, I, and Mama, that is. It's just so much has happened…"

Meg pulled the mask from her dress again, then sighed and handed it to Christine.

"I can't see you so unhappy, especially not with that fop. Look, I promise, alright? That's all. If I hear about him, I'll tell you."

Christine held the mask lovingly for one last moment before hiding it underneath her pillow.

"Are you sure you want to stay here?" questioned Meg.

Raoul chose that exact moment to return with a tray piled high with breakfast, "She isn't going anywhere. You can stay if you want, Meg, but I have sent for the doctor and I will not allow her out of that bed until I am sure she is free from harm."

"I'm not liking how often you use the word ALLOW here, mister…"

"Please!" screamed Christine, a bit too loudly than she should have. Her voice was still far too sore from her singing and the smoke. Lowering her voice to a more tolerable level, she pleaded with them both. "No fighting, not today, not after all that's passed. You two are all I have left in the world now! Without my father, without…without anyone. Please. If Raoul feels I should remain here, Meg, let us stand by that decision."

Meg grudgingly agreed. Raoul busied himself with the tray, putting it down near the bed then arranging a plate for her. Every motion was that of a man in love and both women could see it.

_How can I be angry when all he wants is to protect me? _Christine reasoned with herself.

"I'll let Mama know you're safe," spoke Meg from the doorway. "And if I hear…anything unusual, you know? I'll let you know. I'll be back tomorrow."

She slipped out the door, leaving behind her a very confused Christine.

"What did she mean by 'unusual', my dearest?" questioned Raoul innocently as he sat on the bed, a modest distance from her.

"Oh, nothing. You know Meg," she offered, and thankfully he asked no more.

Beneath the city, within the catacombs few dared to enter, the Phantom continued to make his way. The darkness was easy to navigate after so much time spent within it. After a few more miles, he finally reached his location, a doorway that led to a crypt within one of the many cemeteries in Paris. What he had not expected was to find an irate Madame Giry blocking the door.

"Do you have ANY idea how long I have been here, hoping you were safe? After everything you have caused?" she accused him.

The weight of it all suddenly fell upon him. The murders, the fires, losing Christine…

_Christine, my darling, how can I possibly go on without you?_ He agonized.

The Phantom collapsed upon the floor, too exhausted to continue. Madame Giry ran to his side, ignoring his protests as she checked for wounds.

"I apologize, Erik. I never should have blamed you. I was simply concerned."

He weakly nodded, unable to say more. How could he be angry with her after all she had done? He intended only to rest a few seconds, but fell into a deep sleep the moment his eyes closed. Sighing, the woman plopped herself next to him, unsure of what to do next.

**Author's Note: I've been asked what world we're in so I thought I should clear that up. In terms of plot, this takes place right where the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical ends and I've gone back to correct where I've let the ending of that awful film enter my story. In terms of characters, though, this is mostly Susan Kay. I like how she portrays Erik, Raoul, Meg, and Christine a lot better than other interpretations. Who can resist a sexy Phantom? So it's a mix of both. Assume that anything in the Susan Kay novel after Christine leaves Erik in the opera house to not exist in this world but everything before is fair game.**


	2. Chapter 2

Awaking in the dark was not new to Erik. He was accustomed to it, sought it out throughout his lifelong travels. Indeed, he preferred it. The world was a more tolerable place when music was not hindered by the shortcomings of sight. Within a few seconds, his eyes adjusted and he realized that a number of small candles were just outside his vision. He found himself in the mausoleum he had been attempting to reach, though he couldn't remember how he arrived. There was a rustle from behind him, and he violently turned towards the noise, accidentally knocking Madame Giry to the ground.

"After all the years, what good is that talented ear of yours if you cannot recognize my footsteps?" she grumbled.

Chastised, Erik offered his hand and helped her off the ground, "I am sorry, Antoinette, had I known it was you…"

"Bah! There are apologies enough between us to last a lifetime! And you, sir, rarely use my first name unless you want something, so I would guess that…"

From within her pockets, she produced bread and cheese, which Erik eagerly snatched from her hands. He ate as a man starving, using his free hand to bat Madame Giry away as she attempted to inspect him again for damage.

"You know very well I will not touch. Now stop fussing like a child!"

Sulking, he complied, remaining perfectly still until she was satisfied and moved back to the wall. It was rare that the Madame invaded the personal space Erik so treasured, though with time he had become accustomed to her ministrations.

"Do you remember when you first came to the Opera House?" she whispered, attempting to conjure the past. "So many years ago, a troublemaker even then, scaring those poor managers out of their wits!"

"I am quite aware of how I reached this state," he snapped. "There is no need for sentimental reminders."

"Well, perhaps there is," she retorted. "With all that has passed between us, I thought you had perhaps changed, Erik. I have known you so long you are nearly my own son, at the very least are kin to me. How could you disappoint me so?" At the glare he gave, she shushed him before he would interject with another fit of temper. "No, you know it is not Christine I speak of. I would never begrudge your happiness. Why all the rest of this madness? Why the murders, the chandelier? _Why?_

"I thought I knew, Madame," his voice barely a whisper. "I knew once, what seems a lifetime ago. I am not so fortunate now."

Sighing, she turned to the corner of the small room, retrieving a small satchel. She tossed it to him and he found clothing and a mask within it.

"Never say I am not prepared," she remarked wryly.

"Madame…what I asked you to keep safe for me, has that been located?"

"I have learned how to hide from a master illusionist," she smiled at him. "Your fortune remains secure underneath my floorboards, should you have need of it."

"No, it is yours now."

This gave Madame Giry pause. Hers? It was enough for generations of a family to comfortably live off. Could he possibly be serious?

"Monsieur?"

"I am sure, Madame. It is yours. You have worked too long at the Opera House under managers with no artistic sensibilities. Is it not time you begin your own ballet studio, away from their meddling?"

"This cannot be a charity or you know I would never accept it. What is the advantage to you?"

"You know me too well," Erik laughed. "There is a building on the outskirts of the city, a lovely family home of three stories. The first two are ample room for a studio and living quarters for both you and your daughter. The attic, however…"

"Are you certain you wish to reside with us?"

"Are you certain you wish to put up with me any longer?"

"I am never certain of anything," she smiled. "I am now the one in your debt. I will begin to look into arrangements tomorrow."

"No!" he snapped, his temper flaring. "No, you will not _begin_ to do anything. The documents were already signed and kept hidden with your daughter many weeks ago. I require that you both move in within the next two days. You are expecting visitors."

"And is this 'visitor' aware her presence is required?"

"Not as of yet," he smiled, his eyes icy enough to freeze Madame Giry's blood in her veins. "But she will know soon enough."

She knew better than to argue with him when his obsessions returned and said no more. Walking away from him, she peeked out the door of the mausoleum to see if any visitors were nearby. Only moonlight shone through the crack and she left without another word, locking the door behind her. Once she left him Erik bathed with water in a nearby bucket and changed out of his bloody clothing. It was as if every muscle cried out, his body aching from his desperate flight. However, it was the hole within his heart that he could not block out. Dressed, he returned to the mask, only to fling it to the side in rage.

He paced for hours as his mind whirled, going through the events of the opera house a thousand times. Erik was sure Christine was safe. He was equally sure that the woman now resided with that insolent boy of hers, and it was this thought that caused him to clench his fists and bite back an agonized yell. The fop had won for now. Thoughts of them passionately intertwined drove Erik mad. But the Phantom never rested until he found what he desired, and this could only be a temporary victory and nothing more. Had he not already fought for her for years? Why would he give up at a minor setback?

Eventually, his thoughts returned to the past. It had all begun so innocently regardless of what others suspected. Madame Giry had been correct to bring the girl to him for training. Most others would not have noticed the diamond beneath the rough exterior, but he had caught it at once. With practice, her voice could become heavenly, and for years it was that and nothing more. He rarely saw her with his own eyes, focusing on her voice and coaching through the walls and shadows.

Years passed, and her voice surpassed any he had ever heard. It spoke to his soul in a way too passionate to make sense of. As she grew, she seemed to feel it, as well, begging to see him in person, pouting if he ever cancelled a lesson or allowed her to leave early. By fifteen, she was the most exquisite creature that Erik had ever laid eyes on. Through the walls he sung her to sleep, dared only to glimpse her once her eyes had closed. Even then, even when his body desired to caress her as much as he wished to hear her voice, he refused to claim what was rightfully his. So it would have remained, likely for years, but Raoul arrived and everything changed.

He had been unable to control his intense jealousy regarding his angel's reaction to that pathetic boy. She was a woman now and her flirtatious actions were infuriating. Erik knew there was no time to waste. Madame Giry had already obliged him by placing Christine in a dressing room easily accessible through a hidden entrance, believing that he would appear in person to congratulate her. Instead, he had stolen her away, and this deadly dance had begun.

"Curse you for all of this!" he yelled to the darkness.

Behind him, the sound of the door unlocking did nothing to jar him from his state. He expected to see Madame Giry and was stunned to find her daughter instead.

"Now, I know you don't mean little old me," she sarcastically muttered in his direction.

He scrambled away from the candlelight and Meg sighed in relief as she closed the door behind her. It was not that she feared him. She trusted her mother implicitly, and if the woman assured her that this man was safe, then he was safe. It was simply that no creature, no matter how gentle, could be trusted when cornered against their will. The Phantom was no different.

"Your mother's sarcasm is not the best trait to inherit," replied Erik calmly.

"Yes, well, we can't be all angels. Some of us have to walk the earth. Here. From Mama."

She tossed him a second satchel and set about picking up his scattered clothing. Inside he found more food, as expected, but also ink, quill, and blank musical parchment. The woman thought of everything.

"They're watching Mama, you know," she continued as she neatly folded his shirt. "Me, they don't care about me. I'll be the one going back and forth for a bit, until the commotion dies down and you can move in with us. Mind?"

"Of course not."

Meg brought an apple out from her dress and sat to eat. She hated lying to Christine, but she couldn't have understood the strange arrangement her family now shared with this Phantom. Answering Christine's questions would lessen her guilt, but encouraging this man to speak would not be the easiest task.

"She is safe, you know," she commented far too casually. "You know. _Her."_

That stopped Erik in his tracks and he struggled to remain calm at the mention of Christine. Meg glanced towards the door, judging how quickly it would take to run back out should he decide to take his temper out on her. Luckily, he forced his breathing to slow and stood in place.

"Why should I care, little one?"

"Don't make me answer such a silly question. You probably already came up with some master plan to sweep her off her feet, regardless of what you might say now." Finishing the apple, she tossed the core to the side but made no move to rise. "She did ask for you. I found your mask when the group ran down there and…"

"You joined that mob?" His voice, though velvet as always, did not conceal the betrayal in that statement.

"It wasn't like that! I wanted to get there and Mama wouldn't tell me where you were. She always kept your secrets more than mine. I stole the mask before any of the crowd would decide to turn it into some keepsake of 'finding the mad phantom'."

"Oh? Is that what they call me now? Mad?"

"They've called you worse, sir. And no, I don't believe it either. I don't know why you did what you did, and you've got Mama in a right state. But I never saw you do something without a reason, even if none of us can understand what that reason is," she admonished. "Anyhow, I took the mask to Christine. Had to fight my way through Ra-" she noticed him tense at the name and didn't finish it. "Fight my way past _him_. Threatened to call the police and say he got me pregnant if that's what it took, but damn it all I was getting in that house."

At that, Erik genuinely laughed. "You are such a strange thing."

"You would know better than most," she scoffed and then hesitated. "Would you like me to…that, is I mean…should I send a message along?"

The answer was obvious enough. Erik's desire to possess Christine body and soul had reached a new peak when her lips touched his. He would gladly repeat the whole bloody business if only to receive one more moment in her arms. And yet, those same methods had failed once. A new strategy had to be devised and, most of all, he had to remove her from that boy's presence.

"I will simply give a warning, " he continued with a sudden possessiveness as the Phantom's voice emerged from the shadows. "Christine has chosen to tear her wings, and I will not treat a harpy as I have once treated an angel."

She shuddered, disquieted by his transformation. "As you wish, sir."

It was as subtle a change as always. There was a confidence, a fire that signaled the oncoming appearance of the Phantom. It was not that they were separate personalities. It was nothing so extreme as that. Erik was human and understandable. He could be reached. With the Phantom, Meg knew he could never be reasoned with. He took what was his without question. While Erik treasured Christine as if she were precious, the Phantom was not so benevolent. He truly believed it was his right alone to control not only her but all aspects of the world surrounded her, whether the residents of the opera house or the girl unlucky enough to be his messenger.

Meg didn't know what to tell her friend, but whatever she did, she knew only one thing for certain: the Phantom had been pushed too far. Erik remained with her and Mama, but it was not Erik whom Christine would meet.

**Author's Note: Many thanks to Stephen for being my beta! We only have one more chapter of setting up before we move past the T rating :-)**


	3. Chapter 3

Five days passed without news. Meg never returned to visit, and though Christine sent her letters begging for her company, they remained unanswered. Raoul tried to assure her that all of her friends were simply occupied. Madame Giry was setting up a new ballet studio, though no one had the slightest idea where she found the funds, and it would be reasonable to expect that Meg was busy aiding her.

"Aren't I enough to entertain you, my darling?" he asked her with a pout, and Christine had simply sighed and agreed. It was difficult to ignore his infectious personality.

The doctor had visited within hours of waking that long week ago and pronounced her perfectly healthy, though privately he advised the Vicomte to keep her calm in case her mind was not yet recovered from her ordeal. There wasn't a soul in Paris that hadn't heard some rumor about the affair of the opera house. Most, while sympathetic to Christine, agreed that the poor girl was likely out of her mind. While Raoul would not stand for such talk, he did acknowledge the advice and promised to heed his words, hiring a nurse both to help but also to avoid the scandal of allowing an unmarried woman to remain in his home.

The nurse restricted Raoul from entering Christine's chambers as a matter of decency. All he could do was wait outside her door and pray she would come to him.

Inside her rooms, Christine heard the familiar steps and sighed. She wasn't trying to drive the poor man mad. She was grateful of the care, without which she would be on the streets without home or occupation. It was just too overwhelming. Raoul was not the sort to handle events as strange as those in the opera house. He clung to Christine for a sense of normalcy. For her part, Christine felt anything but normal. Spending time with her childhood sweetheart became a struggle to keep up a fake smile and the pretty words expected of her.

A knock sounded on the door and she sighed in annoyance. One final look in the mirror assured her that the borrowed white gown she wore sat perfectly on her frame and not a strand of hair was out of place. Christine took a deep breath and stepped out, finding Raoul on the stairwell a few steps from her door. He offered her his arm and she smiled, taking it and allowing him to escort her down the steps to tea.

"Are you feeling better, dearest?" he asked her as he helped her into her chair.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" she smiled at him as she sipped at her tea.

"It surprised me that you hadn't mentioned your engagement ring. Have you not noticed it missing? Are you certain you aren't tired?"

Her hands shook as she struggled to not drop her cup, but quickly she recovered, "Yes, yes, of course. It has all been so much…"

At once he apologized, kneeling next to her and gently kissing her hands. It was difficult not to roll her eyes. How was this appealing before? Christine clearly remembered adoring his gentleness and kindness. When had that changed? She assured him that she was perfectly comfortable and kept up her smile as he placed her ring on her hand once more. He immediately bounded back into his seat and began to discuss wedding plans. Clearly he wished to rush this a bit more than was proper, though she didn't blame him for that, either. His hold upon her was tentative at best. Had Christine been in his place, would she not also have wanted to make his claim?

_The Phantom would have made that claim without hesitation, without all these tiresome societal clichés…_

It was too late to regret her decisions. The babble induced a headache that made the guilt even more difficult to endure. He finally noticed her lack of interest and, blaming it upon her "recovery", called the nurse to escort her back to her rooms. Raoul quickly kissed her, no more than was improper, and she turned away from him before he could see her total lack of reaction.

It was only once she was left alone in her room that she pulled the ring from her finger and flung it against a wall. Everything was moving too quickly.

It was all wrong.

"God, what have I done?" she whispered, collapsing to the floor in tears.

_Your chains are still mine. You belong to me!_

The memory of the words burned clearly in her mind. At the time, they had frightened her. She realized far too late that it was her own heated reaction to the words that truly scared her out of her wits.There was no one to blame but herself. Sighing, she moved to the desk and scribbled a quick note. She called the nurse and, at once, a servant was located to take the letter to Meg Giry. Christine could only hope she would arrive in time to help her out of this mess.

Across the city, Meg found her practice cut short by a loud bang on the door. She heard Mama open the door followed by whispers before she came into the studio, a strange man by her side.

"Miss Giry?" he asked. She nodded. "Christine Daae has requested I bring this to you and that I am to wait for a reply."

"Yes, well, let us give my daughter a moment to read, hmm?" queried the Madame politely, taking the note from his hands and handing it to her daughter before leading the man from the room.

_My dearest Meg,_

_There is a certain person of mutual acquaintance that I wish to discuss, an old friend of ours from the opera house. Would you care to join me? It is a matter of some urgency._

_Yours,_

_Christine_

Meg crumpled the note into her pocket. Calling the messenger back, she asked him to inform Christine that she would visit in the evening and hastily pushed him out the door. Up the stairs she ran, pausing at the wall to press a hidden button behind the picture frame. The wall moved away and revealed a third flight of stairs which she bolted up, not waiting for the wall to close behind her, and nearly tripped in the dark as the lack of light made her blind.

On a small desk, Erik was scribbling furiously onto a blank musical sheet. His annoyance at her entrance was silenced by the look in her eyes. Rather than explain, Meg tossed the note to Erik and sat upon the nearby armchair to catch her breath. He quickly scanned the lines before ripping it to shreds and tossing it behind him and walking to a small piano, pounding out a slight town and crossing off whole lines from the music sheet.

Without turning to his visitor, he commented, "She wishes for information on the pitiful circus freak she left. That is all."

"There has to be more than that. What am I to tell her?"

The silence stretched onward for several minutes. In truth, Erik wasn't sure what to write. He was intrigued by the concern, though not overly so, as she had always been a kind girl. Inquiring after his situation meant nothing more than a friendly interest. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he failed to notice Meg blatantly staring at the entire space. She had expected the mess of papers littered over the floor, the piano, and the writing desk. She certainly had not expected the canopied bed covered in red silk in the opposite corner of the space. It painted a far different picture of this man than she had seen before, and she wasn't sure if it frightened her or made her more curious.

"But if it is more, perhaps we can coax it from her," he muttered.

Meg gave him a questioning look but Erik continued to pointedly ignore her. His fingers trembled and fumbled on the keys before he stopped playing entirely. Reaching for a blank piece of parchment, he dipped his quill into ink and paused as he stared off into the distance. How exactly could he understand his angel's motives? Finally, he began to write, carefully filling the page and allowing the ink to dry.

"Only for her eyes, do you understand? No peeking," he admonished.

Chastised, for that was exactly the first thought in Meg's mind, she carefully folded the parchment and slipped it into her dress. It would take her at least an hour to reach Christine's home and it seemed there wasn't a moment to waste.

She arrived at the Vicomte's fashionable residence a bit worse for wear though not entirely unpresentable. The messenger from earlier opened the door and, noticing the disheveled girl before him, silently led her to the sitting room and asked her to remain until his return. It was only a few minutes before Meg heard someone running down the steps and saw Christine enter the room in a frenzy.

"Thank God, Meg, I didn't know who else to turn to! I have to know if he…"

"Shush! The walls have ears," she grumbled as she handed Christine the note. "From our mutual acquaintance."

Christine gratefully took the note and sat. Meg watched as her friend's eyes scanned the words and her face grew pale with each line.

_Miss Daae,_

_I suppose congratulations are in order? I am sure you are quite busy with your upcoming celebration. Are you so concerned for your former Angel that has compelled you to seek me out once more?_

_I do wonder, my little wandering child, if there is more to your inquiry? Is there something that insolent boy is not providing you? If you, so you have my sympathy, though not my surprise. Your mind has seen the beauty of the night, the darkness only I may provide. What could he possibly give you that could rival our music?_

_Our games of make believe are at an end. You have made your choice. Should you wish to change it, I cannot revoke the past. Only the future can be altered. You have much to prove to me, my darling, and may only begin to do so should you obey my instructions._

_Leave the Vicomte until your wedding day. Madame Giry would be ecstatic to receive aid with her new studio. I suggest you return to her. As for what you shall tell the fop, that is entirely your concern. Lies should not be difficult for you._

_I will locate you once your residence changes. Have a care to mind my words._

_Your Angel_

She reread the words twice before her hands began to shake. Meg gently brought her to sit, concerned over her friend's health.

"I shouldn't have brought it, Christine. I'm sorry. I know what he does to you."

Mutely, Christine shook her head. She carefully folded the parchment and placed it within her gown, close to her heart. Her eyes filled with tears. With time, her breathing steadied enough to reassure her worried friend.

"It's alright. It is."

"Is he…is it a goodbye?" Meg questioned.

Christine shook her head again, "Oh no. It is a beginning." She took a deep breath and smiled with more emotion than she currently felt. "Meg, how would you and Madame Giry like a visitor for the next few weeks?"

**Author's Note: Sorry to be late! I've been on and off planes for days now and it looks like the next few weeks will be much of the same, so don't get angry if I'm a little late here and there. :-). Thanks to my lovely beta Valentine for this one!**


End file.
